


Recovering Souls

by planterino



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers being friends, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Themes, Magical!Reader, Reader Has Powers, Romance, Slow Burn, Suicide, WILL BE COMPLETED, buddy-buddy, dont judge too harshly but dont be too nice aa, mental health, mentions of depression, my first story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planterino/pseuds/planterino
Summary: Y/N is a soul that's never really accepted herself, too battered to try and stand out. An average S.H.I.E.L.D research agent, she's convinced hiding behind "normal" will save her. Bucky Barnes is a soul that's lost himself, too shattered to try and fix things back to normal. An ex-assassin, he's convinced staying away from people will save them.When Y/N's powers are discovered and she becomes a temporary avenger, two damaged souls meet and through blossoming love, their roads of recovery become one.A BUCKY X READER FIC





	1. The Prologue- Promotion to Avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The PROLOGUE- Y/N strikes a deal with Nick Fury to become a temporary avenger for only one month. Soon, she'll realize so many things can change in one month.

Your fingers drummed against the hollow table, eyes refusing to meet his. "Y/N," he said- but it was more on the tone of command. You looked up and shivered. You averted your eyes from his black eyepatch, but the one eye he used to see was peering rather threateningly. 

You pushed yourself away from the table. "Look," you said louder, pleading. "I just want to find my sister." Your tone failed to be determined as a teary look struck across your face. "I can't do it. Let me do the paperwork, let me even be the janitor for the haunted storage room whatever but this, please." 

Nick Fury did not look one bit pitying, angry, amused- anything; his face expression completely unreadable. 

It was a horrible, uncalculated mistake. You were cleaning up after dark, at S.H.I.E.L.D's desk places, a regular agent. All people knew about you was you were an average worker like them. Nick Fury knew every inch of your background, and let you work for the agency by realizing your skills and good intentions- and in turn, offered to help you find your sister who'd been missing for two years.

That was all _anyone_ knew.

Until the room was empty and hollow, and two armed masked men with the task of assassinating Fury arrived. You had hidden under the desk, watching them communicate and watched it evolve into a battle. Words quickly turned into threats. As your heart hammered, all you could think of was past memories and getting out of there. You watched Nick pull out a gun model from his coat, and heard the masked men chuckled. You knew that one of them had to go down, and they'd be at each others throats soon enough.

A stray bullet came your way and you had no choice but to defend yourself, unconsciously using your powers to reverse the bullet's path and defend against. You remember the look Fury directed at you, and just one thought ran through your head.

You fucked up.

If anything, your powers were just some huge inconvenience no one exactly needed. It was special in a way it was strange. You often wished that it wasn't given to you. Someone out there with a heart of gold, with initiative to do good and a fire in their soul to do better would do amazing if they had these powers. 

_Not hide behind a desk, stutter and pretend they didn't exist._

You weren't like  _Natasha Romanov_ , who could strut in the building in her skin-tight, black leather suit with her auburn hair bouncing as her fists swiftly flew against her enemies. You weren't  _Wanda Maximoff_ , someone who could look in someone's eyes and grasp their whole being and make them do her own will. You weren't  _Steve Rogers_ , someone who had to give media speeches about the greater good and justice, as he donned his super-soldier persona, calling women "Ma'am" as he rushed in to save the day.

You were just Y/N L/N, an agent who worked on a computer. Who watched as the Avengers set off to battle as you were just instructed to do research. And you were perfectly fine with that. You didn't and don't have any intentions of staying in a spotlight that judges and praises at the same time. 

 **You didn't want to accept the Avengers' Initiative**.

Fully aware that you knew that, you took a deep breath.

"I can't," you said quietly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

Nick Fury clasped his hands and bent forward to look at you. "Why not, Miss Y/N? You're perfectly capable of being trained to be the best. And that's what S.H.I.E.L.D is looking to recruit. The best."

"I'm not like any of the other avengers. I don't have this media-presence, this way of looking good for the camera, bursting in to catch falling civillians. I don't want people to make POP figurines and fanart of me, because I'm not good enough."

You thought for sure Nick would glare or at least reprimand you, but he leaned back. "Y/N... I'll give you time."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his hand, cutting you off. "One month. You'll live in the Avengers Tower, do your paperwork there. Let them train you. If it doesn't work, opt out. Just have time to think about it."

 

Your ears turned pink at the thought of being a temporary Avenger. You carefully thought about this in your head.

 

_Dude, you gotta do this. You can hang out with the Avengers._

~~And be so damn humiliated.~~

_Don't be a prick, you can just opt out if it doesn't work. You can gain friend_ s.

~~Yeah right, like extremely powerful, attractive, fun, and smart people would want you.~~

_Man shut up, your boss is a dick. Besides, you get to play with all the technology._

~~And throw away all those years you used to hide your powers?~~

_**You're tired.** _

~~**You're tired.** ~~

 

Your  ~~ _dialogue_~~  monologue ended up in both opposing voices telling you you were tired of having to hide. Tired of your boss, tired of your boring,  _boring_  life. Besides, how wrong could it be? 

 _One month_. One month for a change, one month of bliss and a rollercoaster ride. 

Nick Fury smirked for the first time, as if he'd hit the jackpot in convincing you. He was frustatingly correct, nevertheless.

"Fine. One month.  One month, that's all it is." You mumbled reluctantly.

Nick Fury grinned. "Welcome to the Avengers, Y/N." "Temporarily," you added.

* * *

3RD PERSON SHIFT

 

"What do you mean, Boss's switchin' up your boss?" Johnson barked, teeth stained dark with tobacco and a tar-like color. Y/N mustered her strength not to stutter or flinch, twirling her H/L, H/C hair. "I said what I said, ex-Boss." She repeated, staring him dead in the eye. His breath is horrendous and smells of Jack Daniel's. His irises narrowed, and his mouth pulled into a stern, thin line. His rough hands gripped her collar, and she is too surprised to respond. "You're under me, that's not gonna change no matter how much you dream darling."

It takes more than a moment for Y/N to decide how to respond, and it takes less than a moment before they hear the familiar, floor-pounding footsteps. "Johnson," Nick Fury says with a hint of sarcasm. "Boss," Johnson said meekly, which brings a smirk to Y/N's face. "Y/N's moving to floor 47 with the big-shots. Give her the last of her paperwork, and _let her go_." Johnson quickly let her go and turned his back to hide his shame, digging through his desk. Y/N can't help but giggle.

_Maybe there are more pros than I thought there were._

* * *

 

2ND PERSON SHIFT

 

You've never felt like the elevator was going too fast in S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

That is, until now.

 

_Floor 9_

You backed yourself into the wall, flinching when your arms touch the cold hand-bars. _Maybe this was a bad idea._  You straightened your sweater and tucked your hair behind your ears, even though you've probably done it twenty times ever since you've entered the elevator. Were you wearing something too casual? 

_Floor 20_

**Breathe**. **Breathe**. You repeated the word like a mantra in your head, trying to rile up your excitement and calm down your anxious feelings. Did you pack enough clothes? 

_Floor 26_

**_Oh god._** You realized that you had zero plans on how to approach the team. Were you going to say a polite greeting? Or would that make you seem like you were too stiff and un-approachable? Your fingers drumming against the hand-bar easily overpowered the elevator STARK jingle.

_Floor 36_

You were going to meet gods. Super-soldiers. Assassins. Professionals, geniuses, _people who saved the world_. No biggie, Y/N.

_Floor 47_

When the door opens, a cool, automated voice greets you. "Welcome, Miss Y/N," a robotic voice greets you. Seeing the cozy floor the Avengers own wipes out everything you've been thinking about. It was now or never. All plans and jokes you thought up went completely out the window. _Fuck it_ , you thought. You were gonna be yourself, and damn anyone if that was a crime.

* * *

 

"Finally going to see a new, pretty face around here," Clint barks jokingly, shifting his weight on the couch. Natasha emerges from the kitchen, wearing cozy mittens and a cute apron. "Thought it would be good to make a welcome gift for our new partner," she said with a smile, biting into one of the gooey goods.

Thor digs his hands into the bowl, it emerging with 5 pieces that easily fit into his mouth. "This is good," he boomed, loudly chewing them. 

"Be on your best behavior, children," Tony half-joked, causing everyone to roll their eyes. "Says the overgrown toddler himself," Steve jokes back, causing Bruce to shake his head chuckling. Although it didn't really sound much of a joke.

"You gonna manage, metal man? Don't go scaring the new girl off," Loki says sarcastically to the lone man in the corner of the room. He doesn't regret things as the state falls into an uneasy silence, filled with tension. Slowly, the long-haired ex-assassin gets up, a familiar mechanic whirl in his arm sounding. He turns the TV off, making his way back to his room before a door is heard slamming shut.

Everyone glares at Loki, who ignores them. "Loki," Steve says, chiseled features forming a stern look. "What?" He said, feigning innocence as Natasha clucked her tongue. "Give him time," Steve says, but this time it seems geared towards everyone. "It's only been two weeks. He's been trapped in a hell for a while now."

Before anyone can react, a familiar elevator sounds, doors slowly opening.

A girl in a peach sweater slowly walks out, head curiously cocking as JARVIS formally greets her. Her hair is laid back, and her eyes shine with this brilliant wonder as she seems taken aback by her surroundings. She slowly walks into the living room, her black skirt trailing as she hesitantly faces the Avengers. "So, Nick Fury assigned me to work with you guys, and I hope it won't be that bad," she confesses honestly, a scared smile forming on her lips.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. 1 - First Introductions Never Go Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superheroes on screen, and dorks- albeit powerful, intelligent, and attractive- still dorks in real life. Y/N spends her first night with the Avengers and gets to know each one. She isn't really hitting it off with a certain man, though... Getting-to-know stages always start off awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Throughout the past few months i entered a really personal crisis i didn't forsee.  
> it was debillitating, depressing, and threw me in a world of pain,  
> and i eventually left this work to collect dust in my laptop.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm doing much better now, so I'm going to try to update this :))
> 
> also more reader/natasha bonding ayyyye

You took a seat, eyes fluttering down to your lap. You didn't dare look up at those so idolized by everyone. 

"Hey, we don't bite. I **f you won't provoke us** ," The scarlet-haired woman with enchanting eyes assured you with a soft smile, pushing a plate of cookies towards you.

You look up and flash a bright grin. "Thanks, err.. Black Widow?" You say her super-name but it comes out all awkward. She laughs, swatting the notion away. "Natasha Romanov. You can call me Nat."

You bite into one of her cookies, and try to thank her without crumbs falling off of your mouth.

"Y/N L/N, a cute girl with special abilities we are fortunate to have in our apartment, welcome." A tall, bearded man you immediately recognize shoots a cocky grin, pulling out his hand.

"You can call me Tony Stark, a billionaire, ladies' man, genius, Iron Man, Philanthropist." Natasha groans, throwing him a look that he pretends he can't see.

"And that," he says, waving his hand, pointing to his grand ceiling and nowhere in particular, "is Just A Rather Very Intelligent System." The automated voice you'd heard greeted you again, and you try not to look so startled.

"Sure do understand your feelings, Ma'am. Technology is so different these days," A built, toned man with blonde hair and dreamy eyes muses. "Captain America!" You squealed, and immediately regret. 

"That's just Steve to you, young lady." Before you can respond, Tony slaps his back and calls him a grandpa to your amusement.

"We'd introduce you to Bruce, but he's returned to the lab just a couple minutes ago. Can't tell if he's shy or legitimately finding a new breakthrough. Both is okay," Natasha said, chuckling. "Do you want me to show you to where you'll be staying? That's my room, by the way." 

* * *

 You walk slowly, taking in the sight of your new home. Your apartment down the block was nothing compared to this, but there were some sentiments still attached to that place. The dust on your window-sills, the chipped tiles in the bathroom, the ceiling crack in your bedroom- you'd grown to like them. 

Especially your sketches. Anyone, anything could be an inspiration of art but you were never brave enough to do it as a career or public hobby.

You snapped back to reality- pearlescent tiles and chandeliers. Right. That was your reality now- a penthouse and a balcony and a jacuzzi.

Natasha let you to a sleek, black door. "Well, this is my room. It's not that interesting.."

Looking inside, there was a modern, stylish bed, a painting of a rustic house by a lake hanging over it. You noticed how Natasha's look briefly changes when she took notice of it.

On the mahogany cabinet by the window, there was a tiny, out-of place item. In a dark, hollow casing, embellished with the word "ритм" on it, there was a small ballerina figure. It had a blonde bun, but it wore black dancer shoes weirdly enough. 

You turn to Nat. "You dance ballet?" You wondered loudly. She smiles painfully, a complex look on your face that you can't read just yet. "You could say that's why I have that." She walks up to your side, watching the ballerina spin delicately to a tune of 'Memory' by Ib.

Her fingers run over the Russian word engraved on the case. "ритм, it means rhythm." It falls into a curious silence. Something tells you there's more to it than that. Waiting for Nat to explain, she puts on a fake smile instead.

"I've lost track of things. Let's move on."

* * *

"This is where the other avengers train."

You walk over the glossed tiles, obviously covered in sweat and bump into a woman with red hair.

From the tips of her fingers emit red, ominous lights and for a moment you feel entranced. "Ah, Wanda. Say hi to the new.. "recruit," Natasha interrupts, causing Wanda to suddenly stop. "Oh, you must be Y/N. Hello." Wearing a black leather jacket and dusted sneakers, she doesn't look too far from your age. 

You wonder how both of you could be so similar but be so different. Such a huge gap between you two- as you quietly made your way through desk work, this lady fought for the world.

As Nat walks you to your room, you can't help but feel so alienated.

* * *

"All right, so the tour's over. Feel free to use anything, JARV's got your back any time."

"Thanks, Natasha." Your suddenly melancholic voice surprises her, and for a second you think you see a superhero blush and break her composure. "O-oh... You're welcome, Y/N." She quickly regains her stern and calm features, and leaves before you can do any more damage.

As you stumble through the hallway, trying to find the library, you end up opening a bedroom.

A man, with dark, clouded eyes,

and dark long wisps of hair,

and a pained look on his face.

 

Collapsed on the floor, you hear him muttering in what sounds like russian, and he seems to be surrounded by different torn pages     in a mess around him, making him look completely deranged. You don't find your voice to talk to the man.

_"Get out."_

Your eyes immediately flicker to his metal arm again, as you can't help but notice it.

**"I said, get OUT!"**

You don't even think  _twice_ before scrambling out.

* * *

 

At a loss for words, as you shiver outside the man's bedroom, you can't help but stare at the door. A mixture of concern, worry, and fear, you don't know how to feel about what you just witnessed. Thankfully, Steve happens to pass by,

"Hey Y/N- wait, are you okay?"

You tell him everything that happened.

"Oh, I'm sorry about Buck. Don't take it personally. It's okay if you'd rather avoid him, but.. he's a really good man."

You raise an eyebrow, seeing his normally enchanting blue eyes turn to a dull, sad color.

"Sometimes trauma really damages people, you know? And no matter how good your soul is, if no one can't make you open up, you'll just end up being a lost, good man in the husk of someone broken."

The hallways falls into an uncomfortable silence, Steve seemingly lost in memories.

"It doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Rainy Days Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> |The raindrops aren't the only thing pourin'.|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incoming fluff and angst beep beep beeeeeep

**_THUD_ **

 

You hastily pull your blankets, cozying up. The lights are off, and the only thing illuminating is your moon lamp that you keep close to your chest. It's  another one of those rainy days.

The penthouse is awfully quiet, and all you can do is gaze out the windows wondering how it must be on their mission. Are they exhilarated? Thrilled? Does crushing a foe give them a sense of remorse, sport, or both?

**_THUNDER_ **

This time, you leap up, eyes wide open. That sounded way too close to the floor. Being next to a 10 feet wide window wasn't helping your current situation. 

 

Without a clue of what you're looking for, you get up and make your way to leave.

You could really,  _really,_ use a fucking drink right now.

 

* * *

The kitchen is dim lit and quiet, exempt the rumbling outside. You hastily pour a bunch of cocoa powder, desperate for anything to cozy you up. It's strange, really.  In the corner of your eye, a dark shadow in the figure of a man looms. It's hard to tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you. That is, until it speaks.

_"Drink."_

You try not to let your jaw stiffen, and wipe a bead of sweat at the low, baritone voice. "???" You try to make a proper inquisition but a strangled noise comes out all jiffy. Cautiously, you take your mug and sip up that chocolate goodness. ~~Ah, warm.~~ He rolls his eyes impatiently. "No, you dumbass. Pass me the fucking drink." 

Oh. _Ohhh._ How embarrassing. Your eyes slowly trail to the bottle of wine at the counter, reading 1947 Jill Chardonnay. _Erm,_ fancy? I guess?  You slowly put your hand out for him to take it. As he does, the metal at his fingers clink with the bottle. "That's more like it." You don't manage to bite back a scoff. 

"Well, if saying sentences that made clearer sense is too good for you, I suppose it's my fault." You clamp your hand to your mouth. Idiotidiotidiot. Are you trying to get yourself killed?

 

**_RUMBLE_ **

 

Slowly, but menacingly, he takes few but large steps towards you.

His dark shadow coming into light, and you can see him more clearly. A tangled mess of soft, dark hair, furrowed brows and piercing eyes. His lips are pulled into a scowl as if it would kill to smile. And glinting by his side, was a **fucking metal arm. "** I suppose, we got off on the wrong foot, Doll." 

You wince at the nickname, but it's even more surprising to hear an apology. I mean, Steve did say he was a pretty cool dude. "Um, _yeah._ Sure." 

 

_**RUMBLE** _

 

You can't help how jumpy you are. You can't help but make a small squeak accompanying a jump. In front of the big, bad, assassin.

His eyebrows furry as he stares. You're quiet. What is there to justify? "Doll, I may not have the best eyesight, but you're looking pretty chilly." He tosses a jacket- one you make no effort to catch. Both of you stare down the black coat sprawled on the floor. You look at him cautiously, bending down, eyes glaring as you pick it up as if he threw a bomb. He chuckles. "Doll, I don't bite. Not unless you want me to."

Goodness. Thank God the lights prevented your cheeks from lighting up like a fucking firework. The smell of smoke fills the room, as you distastefully glare at Bucky. He chuckles, but you stare at the floor quietly.

"You don't talk much."

"Coming from _you_. Besides, what is there to say?"

"Feisty. We've got ourselves a feisty doll."

"I'm not your doll, _Steel._ "

"Eh, this' made of somethin' better than steel."

"Whatever."

 

_**RUMBLE** _

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath. You try to stop hot tears from stinging. This felt all too well a familiar night.

"It's just science." ???

You turn your head towards Bucky like a curious puppy. His baritone voice is quieter. More soft, more sincere. Where was he going with this?  "First, the lightning." As if on cue, a bright flash of white. You barely wince now. "A bolt travels to the ground," you follow his eyes trailing down the white. "and creates a rip in the air."

_**RUMBLE** _

 You feel your shoulders tense, but he continues to talk, drawing weird symbols on the mist on the window. "And once the light is gone, all the air rushes back into that rip."

_**RUMBLE** _

 You knew this. You knew all this, you weren't some... idiot. But still, watching him try to explain and comfort you... The effort is appreciated. "Steve was afraid of thunder once.. I think." His voice trails at the end, as if his memories might be faulty. "Steve," you mused, letting out a snort. He laughs too. This time it's less sarcastic and rough. It's strange, to hear it coming from... him. But strange in a good way.

"Yeah." You look up at him, daring to continue a conversation with him. "You guys, were, uh, pretty close friends from what Cap said." You see a sad, confused light brim in his irises. He doesn't respond, but you don't need him to. Although you may not know the personal deets about the avengers, you do remember James Buchanan's case. Everyone had been trailing it in S.H.I.E.L.D. You remember late night coffee adventures, when your eyes were glued to the screen.

Cursing softly under your breath, you had to take note of every detail in the footage involving him and Stark. It was a mess, all of it.

Sometimes you wondered how that was even possible for a man.

To somehow cease to exist on the grid, to become a ghost. 

To suddenly gain consciousness in a new time and world.

To lose himself to a reckless shadow.

You shuddered to think about it.

"Well, doll, don't stay up too late." 

_**THUD** _

_Despite_ your awful memories regarding thunder, you don't flinch this time. 

* * *

****_"Sister?"  
  
_

**_"Please, you've been in there for so long. You can't expect me to not worry," she huffed. "I'm going in."  
She doesn't find anyone. She only finds the mess of a situation someone's abandoned, papers laying distraught as if the work is unfinished._ **

**_Is it even possible for someone to just... disappear?_ **

**_"Y-You'll be back right? You wouldn't dare to disappear, not when you're all that I have left."  She stumbles through her words, trying to reassure herself. The window shatters through the storm, roaring thunder and harsh winds blowing throughout the wind. Her phone rings. "Oh my god. Where are you-" She struggles to speak audibly while the thunder booms in the background. It's futile enough, anyways. "I'm sorry. Don't look for me. Talk to Nick."_ **

And just like that, she was gone.

It turns out it's really easy for someone to just disappear. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the writing sjsjsjsj


	4. Netflix and Cravings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ~unfortunate delay means the two are stuck to entertain themselves. Again. But what better way to become friends than a couple snacks over some tv?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Some domestic stuff aaaaa bc Bucky and reader deserve !!!! happiness!!! before -i torture them with angst- um anyways]
> 
>  
> 
> So we have a school break this whole week so excuse me if i'm bored and chapters just keep rolling in this week~

**BEEP BEEP**

 

 

Your eyes lazily opened at the sound of a new notification.

 

**TONY STARK: hey kid**

> _yeah?_

**TONY STARK: this mission's gonna be put on delay**

**TONY STARK: we're not coming back 'til tomorrow**

**TONY STARK: just a heads up**

 

Sigh. Heroes were just too busy, weren't they? Oh whatever. You could survive on your own. Especially if that involves a penthouse. Even if there are some drawbacks ~~like old, grumpy metal people.~~  

* * *

 

 **"** Hey doll. Had a good rest?" Bucky amusedly said, pointing a finger at your cheek. Your hand quickly flies to the spot and finds some hair stuck in drool.  _Ugh._ Great. You felt your cheeks suddenly heat up, as you walk past him indignantly towards the fridge. "Yes, I did, in fact." You murmured, taking out a jar of nutella and bread. 

" 'S that? Some kinda sweet chocolate spread or something?" Bucky's tone is as curious as it is innocent, and for a moment, you find it slightly adorable. Then a horrible realization begins to set into you. 

Dread fills up in your eyes as you turn to him, jaw slack dropped. "You don't know what Nutella is?" .....

"Am I supposed to?" He snapped, uncomfortable with the way he was put on the spot. You rolled your eyes. "Steel, I'm about to show you one of the best joys of the millenial generation." 

"What?" 

A smirk played on your lips. You'd get him to succumb to you, no matter how silly the subject was.

* * *

"Noooooo!" You whined, stretching out to grab his arm. He effortlessly dodges, spoon making contact with his tongue. "C'mon, Doll. A.. third jar won't hurt." "Fuck's shit it won't! You fucking said that when you grabbed a spoon and two jars. Don't make me the one to explain who's ass got the grocery list fucking extended by five nutella jars!" 

You huffed, as he patiently waits for you to finish. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mister?"  Then, a devilish smile sets on his lips. 

**No.**

_**No no no no no.** _

He calmly sticks the spoon in, and watches it gloriously emerge, dripping with nutella.

"Steel, I'm warnin' you."

You watch with cringe as one blob of brown majestically lands on the couch.

The beautiful, expensive, white, cushioned, cozy couch.

~~I'm so sorry, Tony. I couldn't save her from this disgusting slob-~~

You almost shed a tear. 

...

 

**"DICK!"**

  
"And they say I'm the potty mouth. When did ladies evolve into this?" You gasp, as if your femininity had been insulted. Which it had. Rude. "Sorry, good old gramps, but in this day and age, ladies and gentlemen are pretty much equal. And that means both, get to express themselves however they want. And that includes being a fucking potty mouth, thank you very much." 

You hiss, grabbing his shoulders. (Which hurts your hands more than him..) 

For a minute, there's silence.

You watch in fascination as the corners of his mouth curl up. 

It starts in a little, ominous chuckle. 

Then it evolves into a full on outburst of laughter.

You're stunned. He's not... _scowling?_

You can't help but laugh alongside him. 

~~Damn infectious old men.~~

"Gee, you're a real crowd riler, Doll." He says, wiping the corners of his eyes. You snort. Who even says that?

"Why do you even call me Doll?" You mutter, a faint shade of pink that can easily be missed forming. "Would you prefer something else? Sweetheart? Sunshine? Flower? Feather? Honey?" 

Does not really answer your question. You imitate a gagging motion. "My name is perfectly fine. Nothing wrong with calling me Y/N." 

He closes his eyes, making a bizarre humming sound, as if he's considering your offer. He opens it, and stares with dead-on seriousness. "Nope. Doll's gonna stick."

"Ugh, you're the absolute worst." "I know, Doll. I know."

* * *

You've locked yourself in your room, stretching your hands, and cracking your knuckles. Yanking the drapes over your windows, and landing yourself in your chair in a way that gives you the best position for comfort and productivity. You make sure you're in incognito, as you hastily sweat beads. 

 

Then you type a link to _it._

You still remember when this whole.... hobby started. Everything's anonymous, of course. You would literally die of shame if anyone ever found out.

 _It_ loads. 

There it is, all across your screen.

A soft, grunge pastel formatted blog can be seen; you get into the mood and start to type.

**Hey guys! It's been awhile. i havent posted any stories. i havent posted any art. i know you guys are worried. in fact, i've had a lot of yall inbox me asking if im okay!!!! first of all, thank you. <3 ive mentioned how dreary my life is so to get sources of love and support from you guys is amazing and i am eternally grateful that someone appreciates my shitty art.**

**so what happened to me anyways?**

**you know how it is with office work. shitty employers and mundane jobs.**

**i just got relocated to another apartment too, as i had to relocate offices. things aren't bad.**

**my workmates are intimidatingly so much better than me, which is pretty scary.**

**i have one of them as my roommate.**

**he's kind of a tsundere, but i think his whole personality is bordering more on asshole. but i think that's warranted. he's gone thru some bad stuff. he gets triggered a lot, gets a lot of violent night terrors, and sometimes the other workmates don't understand bc of that.**

**but deep inside, i think he's worth noticing. i think his all asshole attitude hides some pretty sweet shit. he lives under a rock. helping him crawl out under i guess?**

 

You stop when you notice how much you've been gushing over how good he is. How are you attached this easily? Has it been that long since you gained a new friend? You blushed at how embarrassing you were, shaking your head. You try to push how lonely you are out of your mind and continue typing. 

**we're not that good of friends. might change though. he's cool.**

**anyways, i wanted to post some art after how long ive been awol. yeesh, sorry guys.**

**here's my illustration.**

Your heart hammers through your chest as you drag the file. You've been posting for a while, but the anxiety from sharing stuff to a bunch of strangers to get judged is still fricking scary. You blush. If Mr. Asshole saw this, what would he think? You'd rather not give him the satisfaction that he was able to inspire some of your art. Your sketch is of a doll who seems to be slightly broken. You admit, being in this penthouse gives you lots of art ideas from, well.. i _nteresting_ experiences and nicknames.

Before you can continue browsing, you hear a knock on your door. 

"Doll?" 

You close your laptop.

 

* * *

He takes a look into the room.

"Uh, did I interrupt something?" 

A _very_ strong blush creeps onto your face as you realize how suspicious your room looks with all the lights dimmed and such. "nO! No no no it's fine i was not doing anything important."  His eyes trail over to the closed blinds and looks back at you. "I was not doing anything like selling drugs or filming or watching porn or anything like that."  He nods his head slowly, both of you rapid to change subjects. "Did you need anything from me?"

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. "No need need to phrase it like that Doll, but I will be very much glad.. if you offered some.. voluntary assistance.. regarding the TV." His voice gets quieter and quieter. 

Was he not used to... asking for help? "Do you wanna watch something, Steel?"

"I didn't invite you, but.." "Whatever, we're gonna watch some Netflix." "Ok."

* * *

 "Chick flick."

"No."

"Chick flick."

"Fuck no."

"Buucky." 

"N..no."

You whine like a little child, but Bucky looks a little stunned. When had you gotten comfortable enough to drag on him like that? Come to think of it, it's your literal first time calling him bby his name. Gee, even you yourself didn't notice. You try to push away the blush creeping in. "Ehem. anyways let's watch this movie it's not that sappy like only _eighty_ percent-"  


You change the movie preview to show a brown woman in the arms of a guy, as she sheepishly grins while he nuzzles her. 

You look over to Steel, who's gone from crunching up his sharp nose to gagging. 

"Hey, don't disrespect Walk to Remember like that!"  

"No. What about something like, uh, Shutter Island." 

You stick a thumbs down at him. Very mature of yourself.

"Ugh, fine. But still not that, err, pansy shit, kay Doll?"

You keep searching for a solution.

* * *

"Saw.. Really, Doll? You like chickflicks and... whatever this is?"

"It's... a classic, but it's also kind of extremely gory, so just a warning."

Buck stares at you for a second, before letting out a humorless laugh that sounds hollow in and of itself. "Believe me, Doll, I've probably seen a lot, lot worse."

You feel your blood run cold. He was probably right. When had you forgotten who you were talking to? This was a **HYDRA assassin** , brain washed into torture people by his own tortured self. He'd probably grown all to familiar to the sight of blood, and that kind of scared you. Wouldn't it? Wouldn't it frighten any normal person? You didn't want him to be offended, but.. "It's fine." He says, watching the screen, without any hint of offence on his face.

You scoot under your blanket, watching as the two men freak out at the sight of the dead body they woke up to. You look at Bucky's face, which tensed a little. You feel bad. What if this triggers something in him? Didn't Steve mention to you that panic attacks frequent him? When the two discover the hacksaws, you can see Bucky visibly begin to stiffen. You decide that you can act on your part.

"Actually, this kind of really scares me. Can we watch something else?" You say, biting your lip as if you were really afraid.

Steel seems to remember you're in the room.

"Haha, I thought you were into this shit?" He said, raising an eyebrow. "C'mon, don't rap on me. I want a chick flick."

This time he doesn't seem to contradict you. If he showed any signs of gratefulness, you wouldn't have noticed. However, you did watch how he visibly relaxed. You suddenly become self-conscious of how much you've been studying him, even though it wasn't in a, uh, that way.

You watch the movie intro you've practically memorised begin, and recklessly throw popcorn into your mouth.

* * *

 

**Y/N changed Bucky Barnes' nickname to Steel.**

 

Y/N : Dude, you definitely cried at the end there. I SAW IT DNKVJDJSKF

Steel: DNKVJDJSKF....? Uh. Don't know what the means.

Y/N: it's an expression of stan culture old man *u*

Steel: ??????

Steel: That just gives me more questions.... Fucking millenials.

Steel: Anyways. What? I don't cry, doll..

Y/N: ~uh huh

Y/N: ~And that glossy raindrop that miraculously went through the roof just streamed down your cheek, am i right~

Steel: Doll. Sweat exists.

Y/N: In a perfectly air conditioned rooommm?

Steel: Why are you adding letters...? 

Steel: Don't answer that. I don't care. 

Steel: Also. Yes. Sweat doesn't only happen when it's hot, believe it. Or not.

Y/N: pssshshshshhh

Y/N:  you cried in a chick flick believe it or not

Steel: buzz off. i'm going to bed. night.

Steel has gone offline.

Y/N: !!!!!

Y/N: fine. good night, steel.

 

You turn off the soft glow of your cellphone, burying your face into a pillow. He wasn't that bad. In fact, your second day at the penthouse was more than whatever you'd been given before.

Sad? _Maybe_.

But you were content with this weird little friendship with the grumpy old steel. 

You feel your eyes lazily closing, consciousness slipping away.

Whatever.

He _definitely_ cried.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/N is well versed in stan culture and keyboard smashes.  
> (IFSOJVDFKNKFJDNJN)  
> they're getting along !!!!!!! watch me rip that to shreds. jk/2. Also, it's definitely canon that Bucky cried to a Walk To Remember. or who knows, sweat is pretty plausible.  
> don't worry the angst will come a little later. a little meaning soon.  
> ^u^


	5. Maybes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are never that easy. Especially for Y/N. Soldiers with thick shells, Gods with unreadable intentions, and spies with great intuition- they're all too much trouble. And sometimes, all you can do is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops? did you really think things and "friendships" would be easy??? 
> 
> +++ a special character makes a proper introduction ;0

When the team arrives home, they all look slightly disheveled. They've all finished talking to Nick, _{most likely}_   to discuss the details of their mission. _(Or at least, something like that. Then again, you weren't really a real avenger. What do you know about protocol, huh?)_ How were they even used to this? Using the slightest bit of magic makes you uncomfortable.

Tony plops down on the couch, issuing some orders at JARVIS. "Kid, do us a favor and be in charge of dinner? Chef's got a day off." The way he says has a twinge of tired, and you suppose, you don't really have a choice. You audibly sighed. "I suppose I don't have a choice in the matter." "I'll help!" Wanda says, offering you a pitiful smile. You snort, as she shoots Tony a disappointed glare, which he expertly ignores. "Hmmm...." You think, searching for recipes. You turn to the group.

"What do you think about quesadillas?" 

* * *

 

Turns out, you and Wanda make a good team. You guys knew how to whip out some pretty mean dishes.

She high fives you as you bring the dishes out, both of you giggling. It felt really good to be able to talk to someone in your age group. It's been a while since you had any ~~fri~~ ~~ends~~ _acquaintances_ to talk to, really. That is, if any of them considered you something to them. Who were you to think that? A dry lump formed in your throat, as you swallowed down that impending anxiety.

**~~Don't get too close, Y/N.~~ **

_"Oh. You guys are back."_

You all turn around, to see Bucky, wearing a polo shirt that's rolled up to his elbows. He doesn't seem to be all that excited for everyone to be back.

"Sorry I had to leave you alone, Buck. You'll get to come along in the next few missions, I suppose?" Steve tells him apologetically, but Bucky shrugs it off. "Don't really care. Managed. It's good." He flails his metal arm, as if he doesn't really want to converse. 

Clint coughs. "Ehem. Sorry you had to deal with _him_ alone." "What's that supposed to mean? I can handle myself." Bucky retorts. Hawkeye looks as if he wants to retort back, but Steve waves him off. "Don't."

Everyone sits in silence, and you decide it's up to you to save this godforsaken dinner from drowning in awkward tension.

"If it's any comfort, um, Steel-- err, I mean Bucky was pretty good company," you offer. Everybody's eyes widen in disbelief. Nobody has a proper response to that. Bucky's eyes flicker away again, as if he doesn't want to meet your eyes. You feel a prick of anxiety and hurt. Did he not want to talk to you? 

Was yesterday just an illusive dream? 

"Oh. That's good," Nat offers, but she's more interested in the quesadilla on her plate.

* * *

Both of you have been sitting in cold silence. You can't even get him to mutter more than two words at you. "Hey, Bucky?"

"Yeah?" Oh, good. A response. But wait, how exactly were you going to approach him anyways.

"I. um." He rolled his eyes at your incapacity to articulate, focusing his attention on somewhere else.

"If I did, anything, at all, that may have.. Insulted you, then, I'm sorry?" You tried, hoping for an effect. Anything at all, really. You were just tired of this tense silence. It was pushing your mind bit by bit into a pit of madness.

"Don't be." He said, in a voice as eerie as it was monotone. What the hell was his problem? You tried searching for words. Or anything at all. 

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" You forced. "Why do you?" He barked. You flinch at his tone. "Get lost."

"I don't know? Maybe I just want to get along with the people I'll eventually work with and even live with? Without them, responding to me like I'm nothing!?" You don't realize how strained your voice was. You were getting really fucking ticked off now.

His cold, dark eyes flickered on to your face. They seemed to be attentive now. Good. 

"Listen, doll. I _don't know what your deal is_ but I'm not here to make friends. Not here to make friends with **you** , either. I'm not one you want to be caught being buddy with. Have you forgotten who I am? Have you forgotten how _easily_ I could snap your neck, how many lives I've been driven to take? That's not something you want to mess with." 

You feel a chill trickle down your spine. Was he seriously threatening you, trying to get you to leave out of fear? You feel your eyes brim with angry tears. "You know what, fuck you." You blurted. "I don't know what you think of me, but I'm trying to be as friendly as I can, I'm not some naive _bitch._ I can stand up for myself too. And I'm not some doll you can just play with." You seethed, eyes burning into his face, unreadable as ever. 

You grab a trench coat, furiously pulling on gloves. "I'm going on a walk," you mumbled. **~~Not that anyone cared.~~**

"Y/N?" Natasha storms in, eyes studying both you and Bucky. "I'm gonna get some fresh air, Nat," you tell her with a forced smile. As you walk into the elevator, you don't bother checking for Bucky or Natasha's facial expressions. 

* * *

 "What did you do to her?"  
_"Why do you care?"_

Natasha rolls her eyes, feeling her fists clench. "All she's done is be **nice** to us and this is how you repay her," she says through gritted teeth. Bucky buries his head into his hands. "It's for the best. I don't need someone like _that_ hanging around me." 

"Someone like what?" ....

"Someone... _so open_." His voice is still and hushed as he closes his eyes. "She's only going to get hurt."

Natasha whipped around, her questioning expression on her face as her boots click against the penthouse flooring. It reminds Bucky of the first time he was caught. That was the _look_ , the **_look_ ** Natasha used everytime she was in that goddamn cramped room. A devilish grin spreads across her face, ever so ominously. "To quote, _why do you care?_ " 

Bucky sighs, rubbing his temples. "Goddamnit, what do you want from me. Maybe I just want to be left alone.  Maybe I really don't care."

Nat shrugs, putting on some black leather gloves to match her get-up. Determined, she saunters to the elevator. "Maybe you don't." Nat offers. "But judging from your face when she said that," her eyes bore into Bucky's eyes, daring him to contradict what she would say next. He stiffens, jaw clenching. "you probably care a whole more than you say you do."

The doors close.

* * *

You let the cold breeze flutter through your locks, your feet stomping across the asphalt. You don't know where you're headed, and it doesn't really matter to you. You let your feet take you wherever you might end. You feel the sunlight fading as murky clouds let the sky get darker and darker. "Shit," you mutter under your breath. "I should have definitely gotten an umbrella." Lightning flashes, and rain drops seep through your scalp. You keep walking. 

_**THUMP** _

"Fuck!"

The thunder makes you flinch too hard, your knees scraping against the pebbled surface of the asphalt. The raindrops dilute the blood, as you watch it trickle down your shins. 

~~**(It's just science.)** ~~

You quickly push away any echoes of Steel in your head. You don't need his advice to get through some _lousy_ thunderstorm. You shivered, eyes blurring from the water. "Can this day just end?" Someone chuckles from behind.

You turn around, head whirling. "Who are-" Your voice trails quietly, dying out. You **knew** who this man was. Not personally, although you've shared a dinner table like, twice? Other than that all you've gathered about him is the data against him from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database, and his rather snarky comments and rude jokes. His raven curls are damp against his sleek cheek, grin only _fitting to be called malicious_. If this was any other day, you'd say you were intimidated. "I see you know me," his silvery voice mutters. "How could I not? _Hello,_ **Loki**. What brings you here?" You say with clear disinterest, foot splashing the puddles.

"Hmm. A person whose first instinct isn't to assault me. How nice," he says, guttural laugh coated in honey slick sardonicism. "Well, if you must know, that vexatious, repugnant _racket_ in the heavens is the work of... of my  brother." He spits out the last word, making you wince. You've heard things about Loki and Thor's relationship, and it seemed more troublesome than the usual sibling rivalry. "What? I know you mortals value familial relations. Do you have anything to say?" His voice is harsh, daring you to contradict.

You smile lightly, shaking your head. "Don't really have parents. My brother wishes I didn't exist, and I don't know where my sister is." Loki raises an eyebrow, and laughs. "Oh, man. That's fucking pitiful." You can tell he's trying to set your nerves off, but you've had enough and it doesn't work. "I know right?" You laugh morosely, shutting him up.

"Hmm. You're an interesting mortal." You shrug. "Same as any other one could be." 

Before he can respond, a female voice calls. "Y/N! Loki, you better not be doing anything to her." He rolls his eyes, ticked off. "Does anybody here have any tact? I'm leaving," he sneers, before vanishing like lightning.

"Are you okay?" Romanov says, clearly unimpressed by Loki. "Yeah. He's not _that_ bad," you muse. That's what you say about anyone, really. She hands you a raincoat, although at this point it won't be able to stop you from getting sick.

"Y/N. We're going on a mission on Friday, briefing is tomorrow. ...Nick wants both you and.. Buck in the field." Your eyes widen slightly, then return to normal. So what if Bucky was there? He's made it clear how he feels about you. "It's fine," you mumble, eyes drowsy.

"Oh, that's good. Since it's your first briefing, I think--- Y/N. Oh god, Y/N?"

You feel your legs give in like jelly, as you feel your consciousness slip away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaah i just had to have a reader + loki interaction  
> but don't worry y/n and bucky become friends soon enough  
> eventually.  
> oops


	6. Conflagration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conflagration -   
> fire that can deal a great damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time to see what reader is really made of.

You wake up, with a soft damp cloth resting on your forehead, lying in your own bed, in soft, linen pajamas. By your bedside, you spot a glass of iced tea, still cold. You feel an itch, a flare running through your veins like fuel.  You quickly shove your hands under your legs to restrain them.

 

"You're awake, Y/N," Steve says, a hint of relief unconcealed in his voice. You slowly nod. "What happened?" "Nat brought you, said you caught something in the rain and fainted. You were out like a light," He explained. You did remember the day before.

 _Cold and dripping_ , soaking you until your coat was heavy from the water. A _prince of mischief_ , come to watch the noisy display in the sky. Hearing _Natasha_ say something important before you blacked out. What did she say? You'd figure that out later. "I'm just fine, 'Cap." He hesitantly nodded. "Let me just help you up." You suddenly feel a chill. "Uh, Cap, don't think it's a very good idea to tou-" Before you can get the words out, he's dashed to your bedside to help you sit up. Your eyes darken, knowing what's going to come next.

 

As soon as his hand come in contact with your neck, your flares shoot up like tiny pinpricks, magic wrapping around his hand. It sears the surface of his palm, and you watch Cap's face visibly scrunch. "Ow, what the _frick_  is that?" You snort. Ah, yes. You'd remember how you'd sworn accidentally around him, and gotten the same look a mother would have given you. _Language!!_

You shrug, gazing at your hand which was flickering with black flames. "Magic," you say wiggling your fingers jokingly. Cap watches the flames dance and hop from finger to finger, easily controlled by your hand. "Did Nick not tell you guys about what I could really do?" You ask. Cap laughs, his bright smile igniting a positive feeling in your brain. "Do you really think Nick would tell us anything? All he told us was there was this nice, sweet lady with," he wiggles his fingers, imitating you- " **magiiiic**." You giggle, causing the flames to roar brighter.

 

He watches them carefully. "Uhm, is it just me or did they laugh alongside of you?" You smile, patting the static as if it was a physical being. "No tricks here. They react to my emotions." He gasps softly, watching them dance across you, spreading across from your neck to your face, and other parts. "Y-Y/N, you're on fire." You chuckle, looking down. "Gee, didn't think I was this hot."

Steve laughs sheepishly at your crude joke, watching you command your powers. "So what can you get it to do?"

 

You remember when this question first rose. 

 

It had been when you were 10 years old, panicking as the flames moved from your fingers, igniting the rest of your body. And your ~~sister~~ had calmly held your hands and bit her tongue as ~~she~~ bore the pain. "Just focus. Let's figure this out together. What can you get it to do?" Unbeknownst to you, it would be _six years_ of your life devoted to filling up a list of what it could do. And the rest of it would be spent trying to hide what you'd discovered. You closed your eyes, with a deep meaningful sigh.

 

You put your index against your lips. "Maybe you guys will find out later. Not now." The flames retreated silently, going back to noisy sparks on your fingertips. Steve nods, sensing there's nothing he can do to get an explanation out of you. As he leaves the door, he turns around to tell you something he forgot. "Oh, right. Assuming you're all well and good, the briefing for your first mission will be at 2 pm later."

Your eyes widen, mouth ready to spur a flurry of curses. "Fuck, so that's what I forgot!" _"Language."_

* * *

 You're back on floor 40. You remember the first time you were allowed in here, it was to present the data your team had gathered when the Tesseract was stolen. Your boss had been absent, ~~**(thank God, you've never really figured out how he has a job at this organisation.)**~~ and you were apparently the trusted member to use it. It took you, around, twenty minutes to figure out the weird holographic visual aids. Needless to say, you freaked out.

But, you're surrounded by a team of cool kick-ass people, you've dressed sharply in boots and a leather coat, and you're _kind-of-but-not_ really an Avenger in official un-official terms. So you can't really afford the notion of fucking up. ~~(No matter how damn likely it was.)~~

How hard could it be to listen to Nick? ~~(Which you still had trouble referring to him as. In your head, you had a boss, who had a boss who had a boss and everyone's boss was Nick Fury. Except the Avengers, who were kind of levelled with him.)~~

All you had to do was sit down, look calm and collected, learn properly, answer any questions, and listen. It's not like you could possible get your chair pulled from under you and land butt hard on the ground. It's not like you could have a panic attack having to look at Nick Fury's Eye which you firmly believed could see everything and anything. It's not like you could end up drifting off and not hearing anything during the meeting; it's not like you could end up stuttering or worse, not hearing the question. Or you could be asked to demonstrate your magic, and it would either not cooperate or wreck the entire room. 

You gulped, lump in your throat. "Are you nervous or agitated?"

A man who seemed to be in his late years, dressed sharply in a coat, glasses crooked on his sharp nose. "I don't believe we've met before, but I can assume you're the new recruit." You nod slowly, and take his hand to shake it. "I'm Dr. Banner. Bruce Banner." Was he an avenger? You don't remember any doctors running around in a lab coat when NY was attacked. You couldn't put the pieces together.  

"If you're feeling nervous or agitated. Take things one step at a time. Focus on what you're doing- walking to the meeting room. Hop from goal to goal to avoid getting lost and stressed." You laugh uneasily, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Seems like you're always stressed, Doctor," you joke and tease. His eyes widen, and for a second you think you said something wrong. With a twinkle in his eye, he nods with an easy smile. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Y/N, Banner! The meeting's about to start." You take a deep breath, and try to focus on your goal.

_To fucking survive floor 40._

* * *

 You nervously fidget in your seat. Apparently you had to stabilize some rebel group who were developing weapons that they smuggled Vibranium to make. You nodded your head, listening. Nick's close eye narrowed at you.

"But first, we must discuss the elephant in the room. Or more accurately, the _lady_ in the room." Everyone turned to you, and you shrunk down into your seat. "Knowing Miss Y/N, she probably hasn't made any efforts to introduce her real talents." You huffed as some people chuckled.  

"She's not especially skilled in physical combat, but her magic skills make up for it." You open your mouth to protest, but that glint in Nick fury's eye silences you. "Y/N L/N was an agent, working at SHIELD for around sixteen months. Her position involves mostly reports and desk-work, and even criminal sketches." You don't know why but you're embarrassed. You didn't want to hear this.. This mundane description of you. "Most of you don't know this, but there was an assassination attempt on me a couple days ago." 

You watch as the kind doctor's hand shoots up in curiosity. "Was the security not strong enough? Perhaps it should be modified. Any extra AI measures I can help with." He offers. Nick nodds, moving on to continue. "Related to HYDRA or not, we're still working to match the faces to any existing records or relating data. I must express however, that Y/N was near the crime scene, and her unnatural powers were discovered promptly."

You sigh. You can't believe it's only been a few days, what a turn of events.

"I'm hoping you can train her-" Nick starts, but shakes his head. "No, that's more of an order. Train her. The mission is in a couple days, and I want her to be useful."

"May we have any demonstration? I'll be glad to help, seeing as we are both magic users," Wanda kindly suggests. Nick looks over at you, a suppressed smirk on his face. "You heard Maximoff, she wants a demonstration. So does everybody else I presume."

You close your eyes, trying to stop your trembling.

C'mon. You've had enough practice.

You've had enough hiding.

It always starts like this, you know. It never comes to you unless you beckon it.

_**Come.** _

A surge of fuel run through your streams, and like your talk with Steve, it crackles at your finger tips. You hear a flurry of gasps. Nick looks at you, nodding his head. It's time for you to take the floor. 

"When I was eight years old, I discovered black, hellish flames, that originated on the spot directly on my heart. I watched as it affected my whole body. It scared me, because I knew they could  listen. They could hear," you softly say. You try avoiding any mention of your sister. 

You raise your hand, summoning a bright flame. "Over time, it dawned on me my emotions affected it. When I was angry, it burned to incinerate everything in its way. When I was confident, I could mold it into different objects."

You flick your wrist, gripping a black, fiery sword.

"When I was weak and afraid, on its own will it would flutter into defense to protect me." A ring of fire surrounded your body.

You hold your breath for a minute and watch it dance around you. 

"But that's not all. Using my own emotions, I could affect others." 

"With enough practice, I realized it could help me control emotions."

"When my sis- my friend was suffering from attacks, I could use the fires to soothe her. I could use the flames to will someone to feel my own emotions. I could share a memory, or even trigger a past one from others. "It's almost as if I was sharing a part of myself, as my magic is a part of me." 

You gently say, letting the flames flicker out.

Everyone is intently staring at you. Tony has his mouth buried in his hands. Natasha is staring at the flames, expression unreadable. The God Brothers look at each other as if they shared an idea; and Banner looks extremely fascinated. Wanda seems ecstatic to have another magic-user. Steve seems to be processing the new information, and Clint is smirking as if he's impressed. And Bucky...

Well, you didn't feel ready to look at him enough to see what he felt. 

Before Nick can add anything or even tell you to sit down, Bucky stands up. You can't help but stare. "Test it on me." 

God, it's been way too long since you heard anything from Bucky. He's still the same as ever, cold to his words, hot to the touch, and steely. You brighten at the super soldier finally talking to you, but your shoulders slightly droop when you realize he probably just wants something.

Your eyes widen, but Nick doesn't look like he protests the idea. In any case he watches you to see what you'll do. "M-me? What do you want me to do?" You stutter. You've never really tested it on someone, other than your sister. Buck looks determined, and you don't think you can find it in you to defy him. "You said you can trigger memories right?" You nod, seeing where he's going with it. "Can you make me remember what Hydra did without me freaking out?" 

A hand slams on the table. As expected, it's Steve. "Buck, no." Bucky groans, hand ruffling his tangled mess of hair. "She said she can do it, Steve." Steve looks pissed, and you gulp. "What if it's not safe-" "I can do it!" You interrupt, offended. Steve sighs. "Fine. But if this goes south, it's your fault Y/N."

Captain's being unnecessarily aggressive towards you, but you don't allow it to hurt your feelings knowing that it was just his protectiveness of Bucky.

"Let's begin," you confidently state, even surprising yourself. 

You take Steel's hand into your own, gripping it with an iron force. 

_**Come.** _

His hand is rough and calloused, but it's warm and you like it. ~~You definitely like it on your hand.~~ _Focus,_ you snap at the other part of yourself.

You feel black flames rush from your finger tips, and you watch him slowly shrink as the substance enters him. For a moment, the room is silent. You watch nervously as his eyes widen. He laughs, and you think you spot a teardrop. "It worked?" You asked hesitantly, even though you've done this before. He nods slowly, breath hitched. And everyone's sentiments are the same..

" _Holy_ shit." 

No one bothers correcting his language. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so not only can she deal physical damage, make up a defense,   
> but she can affect   
> memories and emotions.
> 
> think of it as this. wanda has psychological control while you have emotional control.  
> and both of you can put up a magical fight !
> 
> your skills when looked at from surface view seems to be okay. it's not really damaging.   
> but when you look further into it, y/n gets so much more interesting.  
> imagine having full access to what makes a person cower in fear? to drive them to insanity?  
> to tap into their most guarded secrets? to make them t r e m b l e ?  
> strap in for a ride.


	7. A Defense Mechanism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You tear down one of the soldier's shields.  
> You have a prince for a tutor. He's not that bad after all.   
> He teaches you how to put up a shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight gore warnings! i mean it /is/ a bucky fic and poor guy's gone through a lot

_The reeking smell of adrenaline and blood stenches up the room. "What is your name, soldier?" Except it's in fluent Russian. The rugged man gritted his teeth, a huge gash on his left cheek bleeding. "I already told you. My name is Bucky." His arm is pressed into the acid, guttural screams echoing throughout as he feels it searing off his thin flesh. He watches in horror as it dissolves into jelly substance in the acidic mixture, leaving sick spots of green on his flesh, accompanied with streaming waterfalls of blood. It's twisted sickly, a large crack resounding through the halls haunted by screams._

 

_A scientist with a manic grin watches him claw helplessly, limbs strapped to a huge device. The man's eyes flicker desperately, landing on the metal hooks that keep him barred. "My, my," The scientist purred, cloudy eyes filled with amusement._

_"I wouldn't suggest touching that."_

_Barnes ignores the woman, swiftly elbowing the hook in an attempt to break it. It sends a harsh shock of electricity through his system, leaving him panting and disoriented. The man next to the woman, dressed sharply chuckles lightly. "Tsk, tsk tsk. You should listen to the lady."_

_Barnes growls incoherently, voice hoarse as an effect of the terrible screams. " Seventeen." Bucky's eye twitches, a primal instinct invading his consciousness._

_"Benign. " His screams are stuck in his throat, but he pressures himself to push it out._

_"Furnace." He can almost feel the heated flames charring him._

_"Freight car." He feels it, he's almost convinced it's happening at that very moment. Hands straining to grip on to that freight car, and feeling a pit in his stomach as he crashes in the ground, left to be forgotten in the cold._

_"Rusted."_

_He lets out a low growl, before falling limp, as if he's actually surrendered._

_"Daybreak."_

_He's quiet._

_The eerie silence and the faint sound of blood dripping is all they can hear._

_The scientist purses her lips, and the sharp man shuts the book in his hands._

_"Now I'll ask you again."_

_"What is your name?" "I don't have one."_

_"What are you?"_

_"A soldier."_

_The spirit that was fighting, once known as James Buchanan left his husk to the ghost dubbed The Winter Soldier._

You shudder, shutting your eyes after having to watch that horrible scene. You try not to vomit thinking about how Buck's arm was built. You understand now, Gods- if you were in Bucky's shoes just remembering that dark, dirty room would send you breaking into tears. 

When you step out of the meeting room, you let out a breath you've been holding. You can't help but shudder, imagining those sick bruises and smears of blood on your flesh. It's sickening. Bucky, who's left the room, stares at you uncomfortably, slightly shifting his eyes. 

  
"You saw it too, didn't you?" His tone is void of meaning or distrust, it's just mellow and soft. It strikes a chord within you. "Yeah." 

He makes a sad smile. "I told you you'd want to stay away from me." You flinch. While you'd previously perceived it as him threatening you, all it does it make you want to break him out of his shell more. "No, not really. I'm afraid you how they hurt you, not who they hurt," you say softly. His dark eyes search yours for integrity, before he settles for an easy smile. "I can't stop you."

"You know, it's the first time it's all clear in my head. It's not really, absent per se. It's just locked away, and every-time someone tries to open the door the shadows take hold. But guess what, for the first time I was able to face myself. And it's all thanks to you, right doll?" 

He pats your head affectionately before walking away, leaving you stunned alone.

* * *

" _You're_ who's going to train me?"  

 You couldn't hide the underlying disbelief. The prince snorts. "If I was in a worse mood, I'd be offended, mortal," Loki says, amused. "Cap's a flask experiment, Tony's only advantages are his filthy opulence, the others are brash brutes who only know how to make use of whatever stabs the enemy. That Russian peasant has to attend to herself too. So I think the only deemed appropriate to teach magic is one who is well versed in it, don't you think?" 

He throws his hands in the air, a smug grin on his face. "It was wonderful to watch them gnash their teeth and beg at my feet."  
You snort, imagining a disgusted Tony getting on his knees. "You have a point." He scoffs light heartedly. "Of course I do, I'm the prince of mischief."

"First, let's work on your defense. Relying on instinct and your magic won't do a thing, on its own it's a pathetic excuse for a shield." He snaps at you, and you abashedly nod your head.

"I know my magic isn't the best," you shyly say.

Loki turns a shade of pink, feeling embarrassed to have insulted you. "No, you clod! I only meant to convey that as your magic is not that, inadequate, with enough work and attune-ment to yourself you could accomplish much more."

You cock your head, finding it funny how the verbose prince struggles to say his words. "Are you trying to tell me I have a lot of potential?" 

He rolls his eyes. "Don't dwell on it, mortal." 

"The point is, your magic isn't a stand-alone. Sure, it can do things har har. But if you want it to be even more advantageous, you have to know how to use it. And in your case, it's emotional attunement." 

Before you can ask how the hell to do that,  

that ~~**little fucker**~~ throws a dagger right at you. 

Instinctively, a protective panel of black shields you, the dagger slowly dissipating. **"LOKI, WHAT THE _HELL_ -"**

He throws another _five_ daggers, except the panel isn't strong enough to hold the fifth one. You watch it enter your abdomen, and you close your eyes readying your self for the pain and blood.

It dissipates, and you don't feel it.

"No, you buffoon. I wouldn't harm a hair on you. They were simply illusions," Loki softly says. You're still trembling. He sighs annoyedly, but you feel the emotion of sulkiness. It quickly disappears as fast as you felt it.

"Point in case, it can hold 83.3 percent of any attacks. What about the other 17 percent? If someone attacked you with 40 arrows, around 7 of those would hit. And one hit to your measly mortal vital organs could mean failure in body system," he says calculatedly. 

  
"This is what we're supposed to fix. We need you to not rely on that instinctive shield. If your emotions are steadfast, and your will unbreakable, it should strengthen your flames just as your demo was." 

You nod your head, a twinge of fear wrapping around your soul. You shake it away, ready. 

Loki forms a dangerous smile, and you watch ten daggers form above above his head. They point towards you, lunging for your chest.   
You put on a defensive position, watching as nine daggers are caught and dissipate. One slips through a crack, right through your heart. You gasp, it looks every bit of real; The Prince of Mischief was good at his illusions. He clucks his tongue.

"90%. Erase all fear from yourself. The enemy will smell fear and doubt, and they will gain the confidence to prey on you." 

You unsurely nod, and brace for impact again. This time he throws twenty.   
One still slips through. You watch the other nineteen dissolve into magic. He rubs his temples, but he's determined on teaching you.

"95%, You must be the predator. Your mindset on the battlefield is not one to cower from fear, but a determined one where you know with your magic you can protect yourself. Do you understand?" "Yes, I'm ready." 

This time, he summons fifty arrows. Your heart is beating fast, but it's from thrill and exhilaration. When have you ever enjoyed cowering underneath a desk? You had power, potential. What was there to fear. You from a cross with your hands, rooting yourself to the ground with flames. You're ready.

All fifty arrows cling to the shield, and you will yourself to keep them there. You let go, watching them clatter to the ground. 

They.. don't dissolve. 

You look at Loki's face with a surprised look on yours. He has a bemused grin on his face. He points to the archery post, where the arrows are missing. 

"Those," he picks one up from the ground and smirks, "are real this time." You gasp, crossing your arms to glare at him. He doesn't wither. "Loki! What if one slipped through!" He shrugged, laughing. It's a nice sound. "Well, I knew my words were helping you get the hang of it. I believed you were ready. And look, you were." 

You sighed, shaking your head, but you're also radiating joy. "Th.. thank you Loki." "Don't get all sappy on me, I still have many things to teach you tomorrow." You nod your head, feeling your flames burn with excitement. You're about to head for the door, when it snaps shut. 

Loki clucks his tongue. "Ah ah ah. We're not done yet. We have to work through a hundred attacks, to a hundred and fifty, and beyond. I'll let you go after ninety nine tries." 

You shrink to the floor, defeated. "Nooooo!" You clutch your heart dramatically. He rolls his eyes, not feeling any pity. "Screaming no won't save you on the battlefield. Get up, mortal." 

You grumbled something about stupid immortal Gods. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lokiiiii!!!! noooooo  
> poor reader has to suffer through hundreds of attacks. loki's probably harsher than what reader will actually face. 
> 
> also, bucky doesn't seem mad at you. i think. i /told/ y'all this would be a slow burn.


	8. Faded Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend sometime uncovering Natasha's red-soaked past.  
> On the other side of the coin, Steve tries to get through the wall between him and his old best friend- Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is bff time  
> bc i missed natasha  
> and i wanted some steve bucky insight hehe

You let out a long hearty sigh, wiping the sweat off your forehead. You glare at Loki who seems un-exhausted as ever, as he leaves the training room. "See you tomorrow, mortal. Don't let me down," he mumbles nonchalantly, and he makes his way to his room. 

You roll your eyes, but nod. If you were going to be side by side with _Earth's Mightiest Heroes_ , you might as well try not to keep up with them. You have no idea how the hell you'll be able to catch up after them saving the world 2 times in the span of five years, but you know everything has a slow start. Hopefully not too slow.

You spot a familiar red-haired friend smirking at you from across the hall. "I see it went well. He didn't do anything out of line, did he?" "Well there was something.." You trailed off, remember how you spouted profanity at the first dagger. You didn't mean to call a God a ~~little fucker-~~ and just the second time having talked to him, mind you. Natasha tenses, knuckles turning pale. A dangerous look seeps into her irises.  "Hmm? Oh, _no_ **no**." You laugh, shaking your head.

"No, he didn't _hurt_ me. Just tired me out, I guess." That momentary terrifying expression on her face flickered out with ease, returning to her usual laid-back demeanor. "Alright. Before I go, which shoes look better on me?" You look at her hands, holding two pairs. Oddly enough, both are satin, lightweight and soft leather pointe shoes. One pair is a soft shade of pink, and the other a dashing black. You give her a questioning look. That secretive grin creeps up onto her soft lips again. "It's nothing new," she muses.

* * *

 You're staring. 

Not even staring, _gaping more like._

Curse the damn architecture for making the training room, the damn living room, even this fricking- dance studio bordered by glasswalls. Because if anything, it just encourages you to be more nosy.

You watch Natasha as she glides sylph-like and weightless across the polished tiles, her mahogany locks softly trailing behind her. Her hands are effortless, as they command themselves as light as air, graceful and confident. Her legs don't waver on pointe, and it's almost disconcerting. You watch her feet twirl in the black pair you picked out for her. 

It's as if she's been practicing her whole life. For some reason, that sounds a little unsettling. She comes to a stop along with the russian dance tune she's set, and her head immediately turns to the glass. You turn red, having been caught like a child with its hand in a cookie jar. 

She steps out of the studio, looking at you amusedly. "Oops. I didn't mean to get caught watching like some stupid stalker who's way too fascinated but when i came i couldn't stop because your moves well you looked so peaceful and graceful and oh wow that's a stupid excuse but---" She puts a finger to your mouth, shaking her head. "It's fine." You let out a shaky breath, cursing yourself for your mess up. 

"Where did you learn ballet?" You innocently asked, curiosity piqued. You're observant enough to notice that sharp flinch Nat makes. "I.." She turns around sharply, surprising you. "Sorry if the question brings up a questionable past," you hesitantly say.

"Let's talk about this somewhere else." 

* * *

 

You're in her room for the second time, and she brings you the small ballet figurine in a music box that you noticed the first day. "It's... a **graduation gift** ," she says with a laugh, but it's hollow and off-toned. "High school?" You furrow your brows, not really understanding.

She shakes her head with a pitying expression on her face. "No, Y/N... Graduation from Red Room," she explained. You cock your head, showing her that you didn't really understand.

"Red Room.. I'm sure you know by now, as you are a SHIELD agent, but I was an agent from the KGB at first. I was raised in an organization- where even in my childhood, I was taught how to be a spy and kill in the Red Room," Her breath is shaky. 

Oh. _Oh._

You grab her hand tightly, urging her to stop. But she continues. 

"Every day, we'd do our cursed ballet lessons for hours on end. They were intense routines, made us girls repeat it until we lost our sense of tiredness. To be unbreakable, our teacher called it." You see a dark past flicker in her eyes. How many ghosts haunted her until now?

"And to those who were breakable? To those with even the tiniest sliver of a crack? They were used as targets for our firing practice."

Your face turns pale, realizing Natasha's about to break. Without thinking, your magic flares, and you cup her cheek.

\------------------------------------------

"You'll break them," Natasha hollowly said. The older woman's lips pursed tightly, un-expressing eyes staring down the fourteen year-old. "Only the breakable ones. You are made of **marble** ," she mused, hand gripping her cheek, fingertips slowly scratching her cheekbone. The child doesn't flinch, eyes dark. "What if I fail?" She challenged, but both of them seemed to already know the answer.

Madame B smiled oddly, but it couldn't really be deemed a real smile. "Oh? But you never fail," she laughed chirpily, thick fingernails pointing at the floor. It seems to be stained in splotches of dark red, sending a small chill down Natasha's spine. 

Madame B takes her hand, walking down the hall. "You are one of my best students. This is the last test of your... graduation."

In the chair is a little girl, blonde locks and green eyes. She doesn't seem to be dead, but on the prospect of giving up she doesn't seem to be all the alive either. Like a husk, she emptily stares at Natasha. She doesn't struggle against the ropes that have her tied. " ~~ **вверх, вниз, сосредоточьтесь на своем ритме**~~."

**(Up, down- focus on your rhythm.)**

"How fitting," Madame B says. "That the last words of a broken girl would be the _words that broke her_ in the first place."

Madame hands her a small pistol, loading it with only one chance. 

Natasha stares at the girl, wondering why she felt so familiar. Had she been a friend to her before? Yes, that must be it. But unlike her, she had failed. And this is the unfortunate price.

_Not everyone is made of marble._

She points the gun, firing the only chance she has to get out of this cursed place. 

It misses. ~~Albeit on _purpose_.~~

"...I failed," Natasha declares almost out of pride, but it's in a rather monotone voice. Madame raises an eyebrow. "You don't fail." Natasha shrugged, motioning towards the bullet hole on the wall. Madame sighs, pulling out a gun. 

Natasha braces for impact. This is the life of a failed student.

But the chair instead is the one that topples over, blood streaming down the blonde girl's nose, green eyes dilated and hollow. Nobody flinches; the sound of a fire gun is music to these red halls. 

"The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world."

_"We have no place in the world."_

"Exactly." 

When Natasha graduates, she is handed a tiny music box of a blonde girl with green eyes dancing ballet to a mellow tune.  On the bottom ритме is carved. Her last word.

She closes her eyes. Ava, she remembers. _Ava was her name.._

And at least this time, she is made of marble.

* * *

"Did you see that memory too?" Natasha softly says. You nod, but continue to send your magic to calm her down. "Go rest," you weakly said, laying the spy on her bed so she can go to sleep.

This time, the music box has a new meaning. The green eyes bore a hole into your soul, and it sends a pit into your stomach, leaving you trembling. The blond figurine suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. You shut the music box as fast as you can, trying to get the cursed tune out of your head. You feel your calves trembling against each other as you shut the door, letting out a heavy sigh.

* * *

 "Bucky, I... It worked, I presume?" Steve hesitantly asked, watching his dark haired friend gaze out the window absent-mindedly. "..Yes. I remembered a lot of things. They weren't happy, but," --Steve catches the small grimace that he makes-- "I've come to terms with a lot of things. It helps, I guess."

Steve nods slowly, unsure of what to say. Which is weird. He's usually the one with spunk in the group. The one with always a comment to make, criticism to dish, and a speech to say.

But as he comes to terms with the soldier on the couch, he doesn't know what to say. He feels all the words get stuck in his throat.

It reminds him of the first time they saw each other in this century months ago- he could barely keep it together on that bridge.

And then shortly after prince of Wakanda, **T'Challa** , offered to keep him in his frozen state to remove all the... things HYDRA did to his head. And before he was encased, Steve didn't know what to say either. Even when he was released two weeks ago- all he could manage was sputter an "I'm glad."

Maybe it's because in his whole life, Bucky's the one who's known him best. He'd known him even when he wasn't the buffed up Captain, when he was still a naive kid getting beat up in alley ways. And when he did get to know him as the Captain, he let him down.

 **Literally-** Cap remembers the freight car incident, wincing. What good was all his justice talk when he couldn't save him from that incident all those years ago? So for the first time in his life, he feels helpless more than ever. Because he knows that this best friend of his- became a stranger, and he couldn't do _anything_ to fix it. And now that he's becoming himself again, he doesn't know how to go about it without tripping over all the strings keeping him together. 

So he starts small.

_"You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?"_

He says, making Bucky's head spin in surprise. He definitely didn't expect a throw back to the past. Steve clams up, not knowing how to take Bucky's expression as a response. For a second, he considers following up with a 'never mind' or storming out the room, when a baritone voice answers him.

_  
"Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?"_

Bucky answers, and his eyes show that he's drifting somewhere else. They both grin at the memory, easing the tension in the air. Steve laughs at the rundown of events.

_  
"You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead."_

Steve reminds him in a fake scolding manner, shaking his own head while sputtering laughs. Those had been the days. Bucky's eyes light up in response. 

 _"Did I win it?"_ He asks, an amused ring to his question. 

Steve racks his brain, trying to remember.

_"....No."_

They both break out into boisterous laughter, easing some of the guilt and worry twinging at Steve's heart.

_He might not know what the hell he's doing, but whatever now was, was fine._

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Krt7rC7wVTg  
> the tune that the music box played is inspired by this (the theme of IB, a horror/mystery/puzzles multiple-ending game. its great check it out)
> 
> it's called memory, which i thought would be quite fitting

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading my first published story <3


End file.
